To Let A Butterfly Go
by attackofthekittens
Summary: Dying was his choice; he didn't want to waste time trying. He just had a simple wish to enjoy a short and happy life. Because a smile is better than a tear and a laugh is better than a cry. AU, eventually FrUK. And by eventually I mean soon.


**This Is Actually An Important Author's Note: I wanted to try something in the drama category and since I can't do anything light, I had to write something semi-heavy. Which is how you get to this.  
>Personally, I hate the beginnings of stories. It's awkward to write, which is why the second half of this chapter seems so awkward and rushed. But I wanted to get to the point quickly but thoroughly. I messed up on the thoroughly part though. So don't get irritated with the rushed ending scene .<br>Anyways...enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers. Hail the man who does.  
><strong>

~Prologue~

Francis Bonnefoy did not know how long he was going to live. He didn't need to know. He chose not to ask the doctor. He chose his own fate. Remedies and cures didn't matter to him at all. There was no interest for him.

Because all he wanted to do was live his life as a normal teenager would.

Which is how after many battles with both doctors and his parentals, he ended up getting his way.

He always was a spoiled brat.

And he didn't tell anyone about the cancer. They didn't need to worry about him, and he didn't need to worry about what would happen when they eventually found out.

There were no worries this way. You couldn't say he was happy, but perhaps content with the choices.

Afterall, Francis didn't want to live in a world where everyone cried; where everyone wasn't taking care of themselves but taking care of him instead.

Like his parents.

Oh, how Francis loved both his parents dearly. His mother the most. She always knew how to say the right words to him. But her words didn't work this time. For there was nothing she could say that would make him change his mind.

His father was a stern man. Stubble on his chin, brown hair parted to the side. He never spoke his mind, which bothered the son, but he supposed it was for the better. Nevertheless, Mr. Bonnefoy still worried about Francis. And vice-versa. But they were both stubborn males who wouldn't argue about their differences. Even if Francis wanted him to stop dropping hints about bone marrow transplants.

And then there was the poor, young Sesel. She was the most darling and adorable sister Francis could ask for. No one ever dropped the secret to the small girl, but she was smart and knew something was up. Because Francis' smiles weren't as warm as they used to be. She always made sure to continue to ask him if he was okay, if his sickness was getting better. He would just smile sadly and hug her tightly.

Gilbert and Antonio were his besties though. Antonio wasn't the brightest, and Francis was pretty sure that he saw a change in him, but Antonio would never bug him for answers. But Gilbert would. Which is why Francis continued to go to parties every Friday night with them. Even if it was just for a little while, the trio could remain together and continue to share memories.

Francis couldn't forget dear Matthieu either. He was the one who lead the boy on the road to love. He was the one who got to steal the younger's first kiss. He was the one that Matthieu had always looked to for advice. He would be the one missed the most.

Matthieu's brother was annoying, but Francis still coulnd't help but have his thoughts wander to the loud jock. How would Alfred feel about his death? Would he be sad for him, or for Matthieu?

All in all, there would be people that Francis wanted to wish a goodbye to, which is hard to do when you don't know when you will die. _Would_ he even die easily? In truth, Francis had never been a healthy boy, but he heard that these things all depended on the individual. But this time the individual wasn't even putting up a fight. He liked to think that he had eight months, because he at least wanted to turn eighteen. Hopefully he wouldn't catch the flu or get into a bad accident.

And as Francis thought over these things, he couldn't help but frown. Because there was something that he was missing.

~Chapter One~

The wind blew cold, whipping the boy's hair around his face. It felt wonderful, the wind did. It was one of the reasons why Arthur Kirkland loved the fall so much.

He secretly also liked the season because of the large pile of colourful leaves that gathered about on the ground. Not that _he_, such a mature man, would ever fancy jumping in a pile of leaves for fun. That's what young, carefree children do.

And Arthur did not consider himself to be a child.

Sixteen was the age of a young adult.

Arthur bit his bottom lip as he continued to walk down the sidewalk towards an old café he had seen while passing by a few days ago, hands in his coat pocket.

The walk was within a short distance so he arrived into the cozy coffee shop in just a few minutes. Once arriving the place, he swung the door open, inhaling the deep and rich scents of mocha and caramel. He considered it to be the most perfect smell.

Inside the shop others were scattered about; women idly chatting with their husbands at a table; college students hurriedly typing up reports on their laptops by the built in fireplace; and a few pre-teen girls flirting with an older, blonde worker.

This was the kind of atmosphere that Arthur liked, quiet and cozy.

He made his way up to the counter, standing in line behind the pre-teens, followed by a smirk and a mutter under his breath. He could remember when he was that age, it wasn't that long ago.

Soon the girls almost _unwillingly _scuttled off, leaving Arthur and the flirtatious employee alone to order a drink.

"And what would you like this wonderful evening, monsieur?", the man, by the looks not much older than him, greeted.

"Erm...yes, I would like a medium-sized Cappuccino", Arthur ordered a bit unsure. It had been a while since he considered getting coffee rather than tea.

"Medium? For a guy your sized?", the other raised an eyebrow.

"Wha-?", Arthur sputtered, caught off guard by the odd question so suddenly, by a total stranger nonetheless, "Why does it matter _to you _what kind of drink _I _order."

"Well, first of all, a boy your size shouldn't go ordering such a tiny size. No wonder you're that small. How old are you, fifteen?"

It took a while to realize why the sound of the words irritated him so, but there was no mistake that the French accent in there was genuine. Of course he would be the one to get stuck ordering from a frog.

"I'm not tiny, I'm actually healthy with both my size and weight. I don't like getting larges because I hardly ever end up drinking all of it. And who are you to ask me how old I am? It's none of your business but if you insist upon knowing I'm _sixteen_."

Seeing the others' aggravation with the subject, Francis smirked to himself. He had always loved these types. It was almost fun to see how easy it was to blow out the fuse that kept them sane.

"One year off, close enough. But I'm still getting you a large. You'll thank me for it one day. By the way, my name's Francis. You'll probably be needing that when you come to compliment me later, mon cher", the smirk almost now seemed as if it was glued onto his face.

Arthur's felt himself turn red, unsure if it was from embarrassment or anger, "Just give me my bloody drink."

The Frenchman waved his hand absentmindedly and turned away to make his drink. As his back was turned Arthur shot him small glances.

The damn wanker. Who did he think he was? A _god_? Arthur's mother had always told him never to associate himself with narcissists, that they were bad for his own self-esteem. And the French were just as bad too, from what he's heard.

But still, as if in a trance, he stared at the other. There was just something about him that made his blood boil. The annoying accent, those wavy blonde locks, those piercing blue eyes. Wait-? When did he notice the others' _eyes_?

Think, Kirkland, think straight!

So obsessed with his thoughts, he didn't notice Francis already turned back in his direction.

"Like what you see?"

And then that annoying voice broke the hypnotic phase.

Back with the blush.

Arthur stuttered, making a grab for the Cappuccino (which was _amusingly _being held back).

"S-shut up, I wasn't staring! I just wanted to make sure you were fixing my drink properly!"

Naturally not believing a word, a small smile broke out on Francis' face, "Whatever you say, mon cher. It's $3.48"

Arthur hurriedly handed him the cash, cursing under his breath about being _forced_ to pay for such an abnormally sized beverage.

As he turned for the door he could still hear a hearty 'au plaisir' be called out after him.

* * *

><p>The annoyances started to occur daily. Every damn time Arthur went to go get some coffee or tea. Every damn time Arthur saw the overly friendly Frenchman. Every damn time Arthur left away with a furious blush and a frown.<p>

He didn't know it yet, but he had gained a secret admirer.

Guess who it was.

Yes-?

Francis didn't trust himself though.

He had sworn not to fall for anyone. And Arthur was just a mere passersby who wanted to get a warm drink on a cool afternoon.

But there was still _something _there. _Something _noticeable.

Because even a man who sworn against his own love could still tell what a small flutter in the stomach was.

He just had to ignore it.

It was part of life when you plan on dying.

But (yes, there was always a but) there was just that _something _about Arthur.

His blush? His enchanted green eyes? The cute expression he always wore when flustered?

The subject was brought over one evening when Matthieu was over.

"Matthieu, have you ever done something you wanted but knew you would end up regretting later?"

The question was asked with ease, but the room became silent and heavy.

"Hasn't everyone?", Matthew was sprawled out on the couch, doodling on the corner of his unfinished Trigonometry homework.

"You know what I mean."

Matthew tilt his head to the side, considering the sullen topic, "Hmm...several times."

"Anything big?"

"Like what?"

"Like...wanting something you shouldn't have?"

"Please tell me you're not referring to throwing a party, having an orgy, or getting locked up"

Francis laughed solemnly, not enough to break the mood.

"But yeah...I suppose I've been through something like that."

Francis perked his head up, leaning closer to Matthieu, "Was it bad?"

"I learned from the consequences."

"Then maybe I will too."

Matthieu frowned, "Francis, what are you up to?"

Francis laughed, the sound echoing throughout the room, "Only something purely innocent, mon ami. Nothing like _you _suggested!"

Matthieu blushed, "Hey! I only mentioned the type of things you'd do!"

Francis' mocked a horrid gasp, "Mon dieu! Is that what you think of me?"

"It's the impression that you give!", he slapper the others' arm playfully.

The two laughed quietly together.

"Just...don't do anything _stupid. _I don't want _whateveryou'rethinkingabout_ to end up getting hurt, harmed, or dangered by you."

Holding up his hands in defense, "Whatever you say!~"

Matthieu just smiled back at the other.

These were the type of moments that Francis would miss.

**Um...so...what did you think?  
>Be nice, be harsh, be unsure. But maybe you're thoughts would be nice :P<br>I'm not used to writing non-comedic stories, so this type of thing is a bit foreign to me.  
>Also, if anyone has any tips or information for me (or noticed any grammar mistakes), that would be nice!<br>Also, I believe 'au plaisir' is a French farewell meaning something along of the lines 'I hope to see you again' (?)  
>My French isn't that great.<br>**


End file.
